Swarming Thoughts
by Alley-Oop
Summary: This is a little fic about what goes through Jak's head while he's in battle. I may continue, depending on reviews, so please R&R. Rating may also change, if I decide to continue. This summary sucks, so I suggest you just read the darn thing.
1. Chapter 1

This story is strange to myself, being the author.I have no idea what my inspiration was for this story, but I guess all I can say is thatI hope you like it. It's 2am and I'm totally brain-dead, so please excuse grammatical and spelling errors.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, places, or anything else. All I own are my words and my plot.

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**Swarming Thoughts**

**Chapter One: A Useless Battle**

Jak watched the enemy fall. He thought about the war while he was raising his gun, taking his time. He thought about what he was taking away, about what these Metal Heads really were. They were different: different customs, different motives; and so they were killed. Metal Heads were strange creatures. They fought for power and to protect, but they would be quick to kill one of their own for something more.

This led Jak to think of when he had stopped the Lurkers so long ago. How his childhood had been snatched away by wars and battles.

Jak thought of his childhood as he loaded the gun.

He had been so innocent… Jak fired a shot. It pierced a Metal Head's skull.

He had been so determined… He fired another shot.

He had been so obedient… Yet another shot resounded over the valley.

So pure… Jak was running out of bullets quickly. Instead of firing again, he butted a Metal Head with his gun. So much power went into that attack that Jak almost had trouble taking the lodged gun from the monster's skull.

He watched as more came flooding from over the hills. At this rate, it would take him a month to take them all out, plus, he was running low on lost qualities. But there was one that would earn him ten shots: he had been lost. No, not lost in the woods or the jungle, but lost in himself. Where had he been? Could it really have been the tiny village of Sandover that he grew up in? Could he really have grown up so serious and dangerous? But how could he have violated his purity? Then he remembered: he hadn't, Praxis had…

Jak let out a cry of frustration and finished the magazine.

How had Praxis even known he would come? As thought after thought flew through Jak's mind, bullet after bullet flew through his enemies.

How could he have let himself be so vulnerable?

Why did Daxter have to scurry off? But if Dax hadn't ran off, tail between his legs, how would he have gotten out at all?

Another clip feel to the ground, empty.

Why were these thoughts even coming to Jak after so long? The sage had said to use his anger against his enemies, but this couldn't be what he had meant… could it?

And what about the sage? Why did he just sit on his bum while the rest of them worked so hard, doing whatever it took, to win this war? Why were they even fighting for Haven City, or what was left of it anyway…?

Jak was out of ammunition. He punched and kicked absent-mindfully. The Metal Heads were dying at a fast pace, but he didn't notice, he was still lost in thought.

It was not until there was nothing left to punch that Jak came out his shell of reflection. He fell to one knee and slung the gun over his back, exhausted. His communicator buzzed, but he turned it off. He wasn't in the mood for a mission, he didn't have the patience for one of Samos's speeches at the moment, he just wanted to go home and escape his thoughts and the war.

The stress was finally taking its toll on Jak and hedid everything he could to handle it. This slaughter of Metal Heads was one of those things he did to relieve himself of this high-tension stress, or at least banish it temporarily. Not only did it help Jak, it helped the city and their cause for the war.

It began to rain, but Jak made no move to get up. It felt good to just lay there, even in the mud, and escape reality. There were no Metal Heads to worry about in the immediate area, so Jak really had nothing to fret about. Also, the KG were being held at bay by the Freedom… Jak was too tired to even try to remember what they were called, but what did it matter? They were just sad excuses for warriors. But Jak couldn't blame Torn. He had done a good job on training for having such short notice. At least his guys could hit their targets, and he always had Jak to cover them when something went wrong.

Jak dragged himself to his feet, though his muscles protested vigorously. He would have to go home sometime, and their was no better time than the present… except, maybe, the past…

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So, I really need some sleep, but I may continue this, depending on reviews. I need enough to be persuaded (however you spell it...)I should continue. Thanks for reading, please R&R. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sorry if this is really bad compared to the first chapter. I've been busy and haven't written much in a while, so I'm trying to get back into the swing of things. Also, sorry if this is really short. I didn't have much more to write about. So, please R&R.

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Torn was smiling when Jak came into the room, a very unusual sight.

"We're kicking ass out there!" Torn stated in what seemed to be excitement. Jak let the statement linger in silence. What was all the fighting worth? A crumbled city? A few apartments? What? What were they fighting for?

Jak walked right past Torn. He didn't know where he was going, but it had to be better than listening to Torn rant on about the war and strategies he had planned. But where would he go? It was pouring outside, he was exhausted, and there was nothing but danger to be met. Whatever it was that lured Jak back out into the downpour, it just had to be better than this place, it had to be.

Outside Jak was overwhelmed with noises and smells. They were so familiar, yet so distant, so foreign. The smell of rain and still water was almost pleasant, but not quite. Sounds of people's whispers met Jak's ears, but he tuned it out. What was the point of fighting for this place? It was built on nothing but a fragile string of rumors and hopes. But that string was growing ever thinner, despite what Torn said. Everyone knew it, you could feel it in the thick, smoggy air.

Jak slumped against the side of a building. Where should he go? Where could he go? He turned his face skyward and let the water cascade down him. It ran over his forehead, his eyes, his nose, his chin. It drizzled down his neck and chest, where his shirt then absorbed it greedily. It felt good, like he was cleansing himself of everything- of the stress and pain of war, of the complicated emotions and feelings involved in everyday life as a soldier. No, Jak wasn't a soldier, he was a weapon. He had been _created_ to be a weapon. Wasn't that what Praxis had wanted? Hadn't he wanted a weapon so strong that he had pumped Jak full of poisonous, deadly eco?

Jak sighed, letting the rain wash away such hated thoughts. For the moment, he wanted to quit thinking, to stop questioning his purpose. Yes, he was a weapon and he knew it, but he wouldn't let it bother him right now.

He sat there long after he could no longer feel his limbs, past when he was drenched and shivering. It hurt him to breathe, but his lungs sucked air in despite the stabbing pains. The water on his face, the water that had felt so good a moment ago, now felt like needles digging into his flesh. But he sat there, still as a statue, hoping to lose himself in the dance of the water. That's what the rain to him, by this point- a dance. Each drop had it's place. Whether it be the music of the trickling or the pattern of the drops falling, creating miniature tidal waves, each had it's place.

Jak thought of the people running quickly past, fleeing from the storm, as drops of rain, all having their place. Some were parents, their place being at home with their family. Yet others were soldiers, their place being to keep in check those who were out of place. And one unique person, one monster, was a weapon of fear and destruction, whose place was to kill all who were in the way.

A food chain… It was a food chain. The monster was above all, up at the top, hovering menacingly over all. Then the soldiers, who feared and obeyed. Last were the people, the simple people with everyday lives… A life Jak wished he could have.

He stood, rain tumbling off of him like a waterfall, ready to find his place in the pattern and music of this world. Whether it be as a music-maker or pattern-setter, it didn't matter. He was what he was- a weapon,- and he was going to be used and treated like one. That was his purpose in the dance, and he would make sure it was fulfilled.


End file.
